I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For
by Mimmzie
Summary: John's date does not go well, Sherlock tries to deduce why. Johnlock.


"Sherlock?"

The detective leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed. "Hmm?"

"I'm going out for a bit," John said. He stood in the living room of their flat, wearing his coat and fiddling with his phone.

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes and looked at John for a few seconds, before pressing his fingertips together and nodding. "Have fun on your date." He said before closing his eyes again.

"How do you -"

"You're wearing a new jumper, and a different cologne than you did this morning. Your fiddling with your phone shows you're nervous. You shaved only a few hours ago, your skin still shows signs of redness, you're obviously trying to look good for someone. You -"

"Okay, okay!" John said, a little louder than absolutely necessary, waving his hands to make his friend shut up. "You made your point."

"It's painfully obvious," Sherlock said, opening his eyes again and looking up at John. "You might need to work on that."

"Of course." John rolled his eyes, before shoving his hands into the pocket of his coat and turning around, opening the door. "I'll be back."

With those words, he walked away, closing the door behind him.

"I know you will," Sherlock muttered, a small smile laying on his lips. "You always come back." He stared at the door for a few seconds before letting out a sigh and closing his eyes again.

* * *

When John entered the house again, he was greeted by the sound of Sherlock playing the violin. A soft melody, tragic, melancholic.

It immediately made him sad.

John glanced at his watch before looking up at the detective again. "Sherlock?"

His friend turned towards him, but continued playing, his eyes focused at the strings.

"It's three o'clock."

Sherlock finished the last few notes of the song and put down his violin before looking at John. "I was waiting for you."

John raised his eyebrows in surprise.

The detective smiled a little when he saw the look on his friend's face. "I do that sometimes." He sat down in his armchair and waved for John to do the same.

For a few moments, the two men sat in a comfortable silence, before Sherlock coughed and spoke up again.

"How was your date?"

John's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hair when he heard the world's only consulting detective utter those words, and he took a few breaths before answering him. "Absolutely horrendous."

"I could tell," Sherlock said, leaning forward in his chair and staring intently at his friend.

John shifted in his chair, Sherlock's intense gaze making him a little uncomfortable. "Then why did you ask?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Isn't that what friends do? Make small talk?"

"Yes, I guess." John looked away, averting his eyes from Sherlock's pale face, from his multicoloured eyes that told him that he already knew what had happened.

The silence was less comfortable this time, the tension between them growing thicker with each passing second, before the detective broke it again.

"Are you going to tell me why?" He was still staring at John, his eyes flashing from his blue eyes to his pink lips every so often.

John got up from his chair. "Care for some tea?" When Sherlock didn't answer, he made his way to the kitchen, making himself a cup of tea before returning to the room and sitting down opposite Sherlock again.

The detective was still sitting in the same position, still staring at John, his fingertips pressed together and his brows furrowed.

"You already know, don't you?"

Sherlock just looked at him, his face blank.

"Deduce me."

Those words seemed to startle the detective, who blinked a few times before speaking. "It was a disaster."

John nodded. "Yes. Continue."

Sherlock rose from his chair and started pacing the room, his eyes not even once leaving John's face. "You smell like liquor, meaning you either drank too much during the date or went to a bar afterwards. You left around seven and came home at three, a bit long for a date, so I'd say the second. Your eyes are red, meaning you shed a tear."

John closed his eyes while a blush made its way to his cheeks, causing Sherlock to chuckle a little.

"Don't worry, it's not very noticeable. There is a stain on your shirt, not water, most likely wine, so the woman in question threw her drink at you." He paused for a second, waiting for John to confirm his story, before continuing his deduction. "You told her something that set her off, something that made her mad. It had to do with how you couldn't be in a relationship with her, otherwise you wouldn't go out to have a drink, and she couldn't take that. She wondered why you did go on a date with her anyway, and you told her..."

John folded his hands around his cup of tea and looked away, a bit embarrassed at how fast his friend could figure this all out.

"You told her you are in love with somebody else, but can't possible have her, so you hoped tonight would make you forget this special girl. It didn't, and you felt the need to tell your date." Sherlock stopped pacing, standing like a statue in the middle of the sitting room. "You didn't cry because your date was terrible, but because you can't have the girl you truly love."

John glanced up at him, smiling a little. "As amazing as ever." He put the empty cup on the table next to his chair and looked down at his hands again. "Almost completely right."

Sherlock brought his hands, still pressed together, up to his lips, eyes focused at John's face, before speaking again, sounding confused. "Almost?"

John shook his head. "Forget it. It's not important." He looked at his folded hands in his lap when Sherlock kneeled in front of him and took his hands in one of his own. John, startled by the sudden touch and by how close Sherlock suddenly was, tried to yank his hands away, but Sherlock didn't let go.

"What did you tell the girl, John?" He asked, the words soft, his breath tickling John's face.

"Nothing."

"I can tell it when you lie." Sherlock brought his free hand up and cupped John's face, fingers softly trailing his cheekbone.

John felt his face heating up, his heart rate speeding up, and refused to look at the detective. "You're brilliant at deductions, Sherlock, but sometimes you really are oblivious."

"Well..." Sherlock obviously wasn't sure what to say. "I just want to know what's wrong. I care about you."

"John glanced up. "Deduce me, Sherlock."

The detective's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before he took a good look at John again and sighed. His eyes trailed John's face, but kept coming back to his lips, leaving Sherlock unable to deduce anything."I don't know."

"Think."

"I'm trying." Sherlock looked flustered, embarrassed.

"Try harder."

"You told her you couldn't be in a relationship because you have strong feelings for somebody else. You told her..." He paused for a few seconds, staring at John, pressing his long fingers against the other man's wrist, the fingers of his other hand still pressed to the side of John's face. "Pupils dilated, heart rate elevated..."

Then, it finally seemed to hit him.

"You told her you're in love with a man."

"Yes," John answered simply, looking up at Sherlock, freeing one of his hands to put it on top of the one Sherlock was still pressing against his face.

"You don't have to cry because you can't have me. You can."

Blue eyes met grey ones, and for a second, the two men just stared at each other.

Then, Sherlock moved forward and pressed his lips against John's.


End file.
